Michael Gruber’s past thrillers have been good, but nothing in them suggested the level of art that he has brought to his latest, the higher-minded literary thriller THE BOOK OF AIR AND SHADOWS. Well, for the first 200 pages, at least.
Yet another novel centering around a hunt for a historical document, BOOK at least has the good sense to subvert the clichés, and get the reader so interested in the lives of its characters that the document in question – a lost William Shakespeare play – ultimately becomes a MacGuffin.
The action begins when intellectual property lawyer Jake Mishkin – filthy rich, but more than a bit of a cad – is approached by a new client: an English professor who asks all sorts of weird copyright questions. Getting to the point, he leaves Mishkin with several sheets of handwritten letters from 16th-century England that have come into his possession. Not long after, of course, the prof is murdered.
Understandably, Mishkin’s shaken up, thinking he may be the next target. This doesn’t stop him, however, from taking up several pages to tell us about all the women he’s balled behind his wife’s back. His first-person account alternates chapters with a third-person narrative involving a man named Albert Crosetti.
A wannabe filmmaker who lives with his mom, Crosetti works at a rare books shop in New York. One day, a freak fire in the neighboring restaurant causes some damage to the store’s priceless volumes. Trying to salvage one of them, Crosetti and a stuffy but comely co-worker – bookbinding Carolyn Rolley – find that hidden within its endpapers are several sheets of handwritten letters from 16th-century England.
They don’t know what the letters are all about, but we do! They’re supposed to point the way to a Shakespeare work no one knew even existed. If only they could decipher the code…
In addition to juggling in tandem with Mishkin’s story, their efforts further are alternated with the deciphered letters. These are tough to read, given the awkward spelling and voice of the time. Thankfully, they’re entirely skippable.
When both these plots play out separately, slowly converging toward one another, Gruber’s novel is fascinating and a joy to read – even lyrical at times. Only when the two points connect into one does BOOK get bogged down under its own weight. The main problem relates to tonal discord. Mishkin has his own pitch and attitude; Crosetti another entirely.
And when the two meet, the shift is palpably jarring. It gets comedic, almost to a degree of vaudeville slapstick. The clichés that Gruber has poked fun at in pages prior rise up, and it’s not pretty. Just because two entities work well on their well doesn’t mean they’ll do so in tandem. It’s not unlike that first episode of THE BRADY BUNCH where Mike’s kids and Carol’s kids don’t exactly click as a singular unit, and pretty soon, the wedding cake comes crashing down.
Perhaps I’m harping too much on this point, but it’s true that the novel loses its way after a rather impressive strong start. Eventually, it regains its footing, although the climax is anticlimactic. Even the characters themselves can’t get enthused; says one, “Oh, here’s the second climax.”
It’s still worth reading, but I wish I could’ve called it one of the year’s best, which is exactly where it was headed. –Rod Lott
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
First, you need to get your centuries straight. The letters by Dick Bracegirdle are from 17th century England, not 16th (which would mean they took place in the 1500s and he clearly writes 1610 on some of the letters). And how can you say they are skippable? You lose so much of the novel’s charm and feel by skipping these pages! Shame on you for presuming you could write a review at all on this book!
You’re right: I had my centuries mixed up (so does Publishers Weekly, incidentally), but I still contend they’re skippable. I got nothing out of them, because they’re so out of context — confusing more than anything. And the antiquated words don’t help, either.
But notice I didn’t say I did skip them — just that they are skippable. I read them, but I think the book would be better served without them. Hey, it’s just one man’s opinion, and my review still remains on the positive side even with the criticisms, so how that translates to “shame on you for presuming you could write a review at all on this book” seems extreme. Save that for when someone writes, “This book sucks. I read the first page and quit.”